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ij ^?1 ^jj
** WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 11, 1882. ESTABLISHED IN 1848.
k 1 ? ?
THE BLACK ROBE.
i i
?
BY WILKIE COLLINS.
?authos of?
wk "the tfoilan is white," " the mooh
sl_- stoxe," "after dark," "yo yaara,"
? " hak axd wife," 4' the law and
bsppp the lady," " the new ilagdalen,"
etc., eia
1 CHAPTER m.
N.
^ fi&e tick-tick of the clock on the manH
telpiece steadily registered the progress
' ; of time, ?;id "Winterfield's fantastic at-v
^ fea^ions vcre still lavished on his dog.
^w?ven Father, Bennett's patience vras
sorely tried when the good country
gentleman proceeded to mention not
?. j only the spaniel's name, but the occas?
sion which had sucrcrested it.
" We call him Traveler, and I "will
tell you why. When he was only a
puppy he strayed into the garden at
Beaupark, so weary and footsore that
we concluded that he had come to us
from a distance. "We advertised him,
J but he was never claimed?and here he |
is! If you don't; object, we will give
| Traveler a treat to-day. He shall have
It ^ dinner with us."
Perfectly understanding these words
the dog jumped off his master's lap,
and actually forwarded the views of
Father Benwell in less than a minute
more. Scampering round and round
^ the room, as an appropriate expression
- ^ I-. ? ?Va aftt?a a aaIKmat^
UJL -LUfc^/jJlUCaO, XXC iuuv V/Vxaxoxi/XJ
with the side-table, and directed "Winterfleld's
attention to the letters bj
scattering them on the floor.
Father Benwell rose politely to assist
in picking tip the prostrate correj!
spondence. Bat'Traveler was beforehand
with him. "Warning the priest,
> with a low growl, not to interfere with
another person's business, the dog picked
up the letters in his mouth, and carried
them by insteUme: c, to his master's
feet. Even then the exasperating
Winterfield went no further than pat.
rp?A ??a1 T?.? A*
bJXlg liiV) uc;. -l. abuui aywui! V** ^ w
* durance reached its limits.
"Pray don't stand on ceremony -with
me," he said. "I will lock at the
newspaper while yon read year letters."
"Winterfield carelessly gathered the
letters together tossed? them on the
dining-table at his side, and took the
? uppermost one of the little heap.
Fate was certainly against the priest
or that evening. The first letter that
"Wu afield opened led him off to
anoth^ 'ubject of conversation before
he had read it to the end. Father BenVa?n/1
aIwaa/Itp *r* aabt rva/*T?a^
WCi-L O xu iiJ-5 wvau yvwucUj i
appeared again?empty.
* "Here's a proposal to me to go into
parliament," said the squire. "What
_ do you think of representative institu-.
tions, Father Beircrell? To my mind
representative institutions are on their
last legs. They vote away more of our
money every year. They sit helpless,
v while half a dozen impudent idiots stop
tne progress 01 legisiauon irom motives |
of the meanest kind. And they are noi !
even sensitive enough to the national |
honor to pass a social law among themselves
which makes it as disgraceful in
a gentlemau to buy a seat by bribery as
to cheat at cards. I declare I think the
card-sharper the least degraded persoD
of the two. He doesn't encourage his
inferiors to be false to a public trust.
In short, my dear sir, everything wears
V out in this world?and why should the
house of commons be an exception to
the rule?"
He picked up the next letc-er from the j
l.nn'rw A a lio lnnlcA/1 ?f. t.ViA Viio
?
face changed. The smile left his lips,
the gayety died out of his eyes. Traveler,
entreating for more notice with impatient
forepaws applied to his master's
knees, saw the alteration, and dropped
into a respectfully-recumbent position.
Father Ben well glanced sidelong off the
cclumns of the newspaper, and waited
for events with all the discretion and
none of the good faith of the dog.
"Forwarded from Beaupark?" WinterSeld
said to himself. He opened the
letter, read it carefully to the end,
thought over it, and read it again.
"Father Benwelli" he said, sud
l denly.
The priest put down the newspaper.
For a few moments more nothing was
audible but the steadv tick-tick of the
clock.
i, "We have not been very long acquainted,"
Winterfield resumed. "Bui
our association has been a pleasant one;
and I think I owe to von the duty of o
friend."
Father Ben-well bowed in silence.
"Yon are mentioned," Winterfield
proceeded, "in the letter whish I have
just read."
"Are yon at liberty to tell me the
name of your correspondent?" Fathei
Ben-well asked.
" I am not at liberty to do that. But j
I think it due to vou, and to myself, to
tell you what the substance ot the letter
is. The writer warns me to be careful
in my intercourse with you. Youi
object (I am told) is to make yourseli
acquainted with events in my past life,
and you have some motive which myoorrespcadent
has thus far failed tc
discover. I speak plainly, but I beg
^ you to understand that I also speak impartially.
I condemn no man unheard,
least of all a man whom I have had the
honor of receiving under my own roof."
* ' > He spoke with a c-rtain simple dig
nity. With equal dignity Father BenTrell
answered. It is needless to saj
.'hat he kuew Winterfield's corresponded
io bo Eomayne's wife.
" Let rue sincerely thank you, Mr.
"Winter-field, for a candor which does
honor to us both," he said. "You can
scarcely expect me?if I may use such
ori nvTYTv>ccirir>?fn f?rvn<1p!Wnd to iustifv
myself against an accusal ion wliicli is
an anonymous accusation so far as I am
concerned. I prefer to meet the letter
]>ya plain proof and I leave you to
judge whether I am still worthy of the
friendship to which you :iave so kindly
alluded."
With this preface he briefly rel??d
the circumstances tinder which he had
become possessed of the packet, and
; then handed it to Winterfield, with the
seal uppermost.
'
U- -
"Decide for yourself," he concluded, |
'whether a man bent on prjing into
jour private affairs, with that letter entirely
at his mercj, would have been
true to the trust reposed in him."
He rose and took his hat, readj to
leave the room if his honor was profaned
by the slightest expression of
distrust. Winterfield's genial and un- j
suspicious nature instantly accepted !
the offered proof as conclusive.
" Before I break the seal," he said, j
j "let mo do jou justice. Sit down j
j again. Fatber Benwell, and forgive me i
j if mv sense of dutj has hurried me into j
hurting tout feelings, jno man ought
to know better than I do how often
people misjudge and wrong each other."
They shook hands cordially. No
moral relief is more eagerly sought
than relief from the pressure of a serious
explanation. By common consent
they no^ spoke as lightly as if nothing
had happened. Father Ben well set the
example.
" You actually believe in a priest!"
he said, gayly. " We shall make a good '
Catholic of you yet."
"Don't be too sure of that," Winter- ,
field replied. " I respect the men who
have given to humanity the inestimable
blessing of quinine?to say nothing of
Mrs. Eyrecourt (now convalescent) was 1
staying at Ten Acres and was then
taking the air in her chair on wheels, j 1
The good lady's nimble and discursive | i
tongue offered mo an opportunity of
referring, in the most innocent manner
possible, to Winterfield's favorable
opinion of Romayne's pictures. I need
scarcely say that I looked at Romayne's
wife when I mentioned the name. She
turned pale, probably fearing that I had
some knowledge of her letter warning ,
Winterfield not to trust me. If she had
already been informed that he was not
to be blamed, but to be pitied, in the
matter of marriage at Brussels, she !
would have turned rod. Such, at least,
is my experience, drawn from recollec
tions oi otner aays.
" The ladies having served my pur- pose,
I venttired into the house to pay
my respects to Pomayne.
"He was in the study, and his excellent
friend and secretary was with him. '
After the first greetings, Penrose left :
as. His manner told me plainly that
there was something wrong. I asked
no questions?waiting on the change '
that Bomayne might enlighten me.
"' I hope you are in better spirits now
that you have your old companion with '
you,' I said. ,
"'lam very g:ad to have Penrose j ^
with me,' he answered. And then he j j
c J n i 1. _ .1 t i
iruwueu ikLLU iUU^U UUO UJ. CXXU wiuuvw i .
at the two ladies in the grounds.
"It occurred to me that Mrs. Eyre- ,
court might be occupying the custo- ,
mary false position of a mother-in-law.
I was mistaken. He was not thinking ,
of his wife's mother?he was thinking ,
of his wife. ]
"'I suppose you know that Penrose .
had an idea of converting me ? he said, ,
suddenly. (
"I was perfectly candid with him. I \
said I knew of it, and approved of it. j
" * May I hope that Arthur has sue- { 3
ceeded in convincing you ?' I ventured j
to add. j j
"' He might have succeeded, Father ; ]
Ben well, if he iiad chosen to go on.'
"This reply, as yon. may easily im- j ]
agine, took me by surprise. j (
"' Are yon really so obdnrate that j <
Arthur despairs of your conversion ?' ! (
I asked.
" 'Nothing of the sort! I h^-ve thonght j
and thonght of it, and I can tell yon I i
was more than ready to meet him half .
way.' i
"'Then where is the obstacle?' I ]
exclaimed. I
"He pointed throngh tha window to ,
his wife. J i
" 'There is the obstacle!' lie said, in j (
a tone of ironclad resignation. j 3
"Snowing Arthur's character as 11
knew it, I at last understood what had ! ;
happened. For a moment I felt really ! :
angry. Under these circumstances the j (
vrise course was to say nothing until I j j
could be sure of speaking with exem- j .
plary moderation. It doesn't do for a j 1
man in my position to show anger. j j
"Eomayne went on. L
" 'We talked of my wife, Father Bee- j
well, tbe last time yon were here, ion j
only knew, then, that her reception of j
Mr. Winterfield had determined him I
never to enter my house again. By
way of adding to your information on
the subject of " petticoat government,'
I may now tell you that Mrs. Komayne
has forbidden Penrose to proceed with ,
he attempt to convert me. By common
preserving learning and civilization?
but I respect still more my own liberty :
as a free Christian."
They both laughed. Father Benweli
went back to his newspaper. Winterfield
broke the seal of the envelope and
frj-uVIr rtnf +.Tia lrinlncnr/v;.
The confession was the first of the
papers at which he happened to look.
At the opening lines he turned j>ale.
He read more, and his eyes filled ith
tears. In low, broken tones, he said to
the priest: >
" You have innocently brought m
distressing news. I entreat your pardon
if I ask to be left alone."
Father Benweli said a few chosen
words ol sympathy, and immediately
withdrew. The dog licked his master's
hand, hansrins: listlessly over tlit arm
of the chairLater
in the evening a note from i
Winterfield was left by messenger at j
i the priest's lodgings. The writer an- j
j nonnced vith renewed expression ol i
! regret that he would be again absent i
from London on the next day, but that j
! he hoped to return to the hotel ana ,
j receive his gnest on the evening of the j
j day after.
Father Benxrell rightly conjectured j
that Winterlield's destination was tne j
town in which his wife had died.
Kis object in taking the journey was I
not, as the priest supposed, to ad<1 --ess !
inquiries to the rector and the landlady, j
J who had been present at the fatal ill'
ness and the death, but to justify his !
| wife's last expression of belief in the ;
j mercy and compassion of the man whom
she had injured. On that " nameless
grave," so sadly and so humbly referred
to in the confession, he had resolved to
place a simple stone cross, giving to her
i 1 ?J ,-j.
j memory mt5 uauiv \*ju?tu ouo uau sin oa.a >
I from profaning in bar lifetime. When |
he had written the brief inscription whi<
recorded the death of "Emma, wife
Bernard Winterfield." and when he hi
knelt for a while by the low turf moun
his errand had come to its end. I
thanked the good rector; he left gif
with the landlady and her children, 1
which he was gratefully remember<
for many a year afterward, and th<
witL a heart relieved he went back
London.
Other men might have roade the
sad little pilgrimage alone. Winte
field took his dog with him. " I run
have something to love," he said to tl
rector, " at snch a time as this."
CHAPTER IV.?FATHER BEN WELL'S CORR
SPONDEKCE.
To the Secretary} S. J., .Rome.
"When I wrote last I scarce
thought I should trouble von again :
soon. The necessity lias, howeve
arisen. I must asl '.or instructions fro
A 3 1 XI. - 1
our most reverend general uu uie su,
ject of Arthur Penrose.
"I believe I informed you that
decided to defer my proposed visit 1
Ten Acres Lodge for two or three day
in order that TVinterfield (if he i:
tended to do so) might have time 1
communicate with Mrs. Romavne afti
his return from the country. Natural.1
enough, perhaps, considering the de!
cacy of the subject, he has not take
me into his confidence. I can oh
guess that he has maintained the san
reserve with Mrs. Romavne
" My visit to the Lodgo was duly pai
this afternoon.
" I asked first, of course, for the lad
of the house, and hearing she was i
the grounds, joined her there. SI
Looked ill and anxious, and she receiv*
mo with rigid politeness. Fortunate!
consent the subject is never mentione
between us.' The bitter irony of h
tone thus far suddenly disappeared. B
spoke eagerly and anxiously. ' I hoj
vou are not angry with Arthur!' i
said.
"By this time my little fit of il
temper was at an end. I answered and
it was really in a certain sense true'
I know Arthur Joo well to be angi
with him.'
" Romayne seemed to be relieved. '
Dnly troubled you with this last dc
mestic incident-,' he resumed, 'to bs
speak your indulgence for Penrose,
im getting learned in the hiearchy c
the church, Father Benwell! You ai
the superior of my dear little frienc
and you exercise authority over hin
Oh, he is the kindest and best of men
[t is not his fault. He submits to Mrs
Romayne?against his own better convi<
Lion?in the honest belief that he coi
suits the interests of our married life
' - "?* - ? ^ 1 -T- 1_ i _ 3 J_"I_
"1 don't tnuiK l misinterpreted m
state of Romayne's mind and mislea
rou, when I express my belief that thi
second indiscreet interference of lii
wife between liis friend and hirase
trill produce the very res alt which sb
Ireads. Mark my words, written afte
:he closest observation of him, this neirritation
of Romajne's sensitive sell
respect will hasten his conversion.
" Yon will understand that the on
uternative before me, after what hs
aappcned, is to fill the place from whic
Penrose has withdrawn. But nothing ca
be done until the visit of Penrose lis
:ome to an end. Romayne's secrc
sense of irritation may be safely left t
levelop itself, with time to help it.
" So I changed the conversation f
the subject of his literary labors. Th
present state of his mind is not favoi
ible to work of that exacting kind. Eve
with the help of Penrose to encourag
iiim, he does not get on to his satisfa<
tion; and yet, as I could plainly pe:
;eive, the ambition to make a name i
the world exercises a stronger influenc
Dver him than ever. All in our favo:
,1 rtll iy? -Po TT/\Y* T
D2j reyereuu me-iiu.??u . u> .
"I took the liberty of asking to se
Penrose alone for a moment, and, th:
request granted, Romayne and I parte
jordially. I can make most peopj
like me when I choose to try. TL
master of Yange Abby is no exceptic
to the rule. Did I tell yon, by-the-byi
that the property has a little decline
of late in value ? It is now not moi
than sis thousand a year. We will in
prove it when it returns to the churc!
" My interview with Penrose was ov<
in two minutes. Dispensing with a
? **" *ovw 1/ar? 1 rr? 4
lUrjULUIlrV, X LUUIl lilO CVJ.JLU. CbUVA AWU Xiitu i
the front garden.
" ' I have lieard all about it,' I sai<
1 and I must not deny that you have di
appointed me. But I know your dispi
sition, and I make allowances. Yc
have qualities, dear Arthur, which pe
Laps put you a lit tie out of place amor
us. I shall be obliged to report wh:
you have done, but you may tract n
to put it favorable. Shake hands, n
son, and while wo are together, let i
be as good friends as ever.'
" You may think that I spoke in th
a
way WILLI a, view lu lllj inuui^cuu .u*
guage beiug repeated to Romayne, as
so improving the position which'I hai
already gained in his estimation. I
yon know I r^liy believe I meant it
the time! The poor fellow grateful
kissed my hand when I offered it
him; he was really not able to spea
I almost fan-y I am weak about Arthui
Say a kind word for him when his cc
duct coiaes under notice, out pray cio:
mention this little frailty of mine, a:
don't suppose I have any sympathy wi
his \reak-mind6d submission to Mi
liomajnes prejudice. If I ever felt t
smallest consideration for her (and
cannot call to mind any amiable eir
lion of that sort), her lette' to \viut<
field would have effcct-ally cxti
guished it. There is- something qui
revolting to me in a deceitful woman.
"In closing this letter, I may qu:
the minds of our reverend brethren i.
assure them that my former objecti
to associating myself directly with t
TTiaT?c T / *"? ? "RnmnTT* A 1 An (Yflr AV1C'
"Yes, even at my age and 'with, r
habits, I am now resigned to hear!
and confuting the trivial arguments o
man who is young enough to be r
son. I shall write a careiully grTO-^''1
letter to Romayne on the departure
Penrose; and I shall send him a bo
to read, from the influence oi whicl;
expect gratifying results. It Li not
controversial work (Arthur has be
beforehand witii me there), it is Wis
roan's ' Recollections of the Popes.'
:
- 7 '
look to that essentially readable booli
oi to excite Romayne's imagination bj
id vivid descriptions of tlie splendors oi
<1 nhnrfOi ^nrl flip vast; inflnpricp arid
le power of the higher priesthood. Does
ts this sudden enthusiasm of mine surprise
you ? And are you altogether at
id | a loss to know what it means !
vc It means, my friends, that I see our
tc position toward Iiomayne in an entirely
new light. Forgive me if I say
'ii more for the present. I prefer to be i
ir* silent until my audacity is justified bj
s* events."
le
| CHAPTER v.?BERNARD WnvTEKFTELD'S CORRESPONDENCE.
EI.
From Mrs. Romayne to Mr. Winter field.
I, " Has my letter failed to reach you:
3c I directed it (as I direct this) to Beaux'
park, not knowing your London adm
dress. i
[j. " Yesterday Father Ben well called at
Ten Acres Lodge. He first saw my
I mother and myself, and he contrived tc
to mention your name. It was done witb
s, his usual adroitness, and I might pera
haps have passed it over, if he had not
tc looked at me. I hope and pray it maj
be only my fancy, but I thought I saw
[j in his eyes that he was conscious ol
[i having me in his power, and that he
;n might betray me to my husband at anj
ly moment.
ve "I have no sort of claim on you.
And heaven knows I have little reason
., to trust you. But I thought you meant
fairly by me when ;re spoke together at
this house. In that belief, I entreat
** you to tell me if Father Benwell has
'U intruded into your confidence, or eveD
16
^ if you have hinted anything to him
which gives him a hold over me."
a n g
From Mr. Winter field to Mrs. Rcmayne.
;e "Both your letters have reached me.
I t i .1
"X iiavt) guuu xeasuu iut ue.uov.u15
e that yon are entirely mistaken in youi
estimate of Father Benwell's character.
But I know, by sad experience, how
you hold your opinions when they are
once formed, and I am eager to relieve
you of all anxiety, so far as I am con
"v " "
cerned. I have not said one word?I
j have not even Lfc slip the slightest hint
^ ?which could inform Father Benwell
of that past event in our lives to wliioi
j your letter alludes. Your secret is a
^ sacred secret to me, and it lias been and
shall be sacredly kept.
i "There is a sentence in your lettei
' which has given me great pain. You
, reiterate the cruel language of by-gone
. days. You say ' Heaven knows I have
little reason to trust you.'
" I have reasons on my own side foi
> not justifying myself, except undei
6 certain conditions. If you are ever in
? a position of trouble or peril?and God
;s forbid it ever should be so?which yon
[g might blamelessly confide to a devoted
L? friend or brother, I undertake, in that
e Cise, t >*prove even to you that it was a
,r cruel injustice ever to have doubted me,
w and there is no man living whom you
can more implicitly trust than myself.
" My address, when I am in London,
is at the head of thispage.1'
ls j ni.
Frcrm Dr. Wyl/row to Mr. Wi?iterfield.
d "Dsab Sib?I Lave received vonr
LS letter, mentioning that you want to accompany
me at my n xt visit to the
0 asylum, to see the French boy, so
strangely associated with the letter de
;o livered ta you by Father Ben well.
" Your proposal reaches me too late.
The poor creature's troubled life has
n come to an end. He never rallied from
e the exhausting effect of the fever. To
the last ho was attended by his mother.
r" I write with true sympathy for that
n excellent lady, but I do not conceal
:e from you or from myself that his death
is not to be regretted. In a case of the
.same extraordinary kind, recorded in
:e print, the patient recovered from the
is "ever, ami his insanity returned witi: |
d Lis returning health.
Le 4tFaithfi lly your?,
ie "Joseph "Wibeow."
m
j chattee vi.? the saddest of ail words.
:e On the tenth morning, dating from
i. the dispatch of Father Eenwell's last
2< letter to Eome, Penrose was writing in
>r the study at Ten Acres Lodge?'while
Eomayne sat at the other end of the
0 room looking listlessly at a blank sheet
of piper, with the pen ljing idle beside
j it. Oa a sudden he rose, and snatching
s- up paper and pen threw them irritably
into the fire.
)U "Don't trouble yourself to write any
r_ longer," ho said to Penrose. "My
10P dream is over. Throw my manuscripts
^ into the waste-paper basket, and never
,e speak to me of literary work again."
"Every man devoted to literature has
JS tliese fits of despondency," Penrose
"Dnn'r. think of vour work.
:s Send for jour horse, and trust to fresh
air and exercise to relieve your mind."
l(j Romayne barely listened. He turned
,e round at the fireplace and studied the
)0 reflection of his face in the glass.
a{. "Hook worse and worse," he said,
jy thoughtfully, to himself.
to It was true. His fleh had fallen
j. away; his face had withered and whit.
t ened; he stooped like an old man.
,n. The change for the worse had been
steadily proceeding from the time when
he left Yange Abbey.
tl-1 " It's useless to conceal it from me I"
pg II? UUrbl/ UUl'| OiH.1 JL. VUAVW
jj "I am in some way answerable?though
3 you all deny it?for the French boy's
,0 death. Why not ? His voice is still in
my ears?and the stain of his brother's ;
u. blood is on me. I am under a spell!
Do vou believe in the witches?the
iu *
merciless old women who made w-x im[ej
and stuck pins in their mock likenesses,
f 1 to register the slow wasting away oi
oe their victims day after day? People
he disbelieve it in these times; but it has
ts. never been disproved." He stopped,
qj looked at Penrose, and suddenly
g changed his tone. "Arthur! what is
f a the matter with you ? Have you had a
nj bad night? Has anything happened?"'
- (3 For the first time in Eomayne's ex?*
perience of him Penrose answered
-1- -
evasively.
i T " is there nothing to make me anxa
ions," he said, " when I hear yon talk
eD as you are talking now? The poor
5e* French boy died of a fever. Must I
3 remind you again that he owed the hap
fr
piest days of his life to you and your
gcoil wife?"
Fiomayne still looked at Him, without
attending to what he said.
" Sarelv yon dc n'fc*hinkl am deceiving
you ?" Penrose remonstrated.
"No: I was thinking of something
else. I was wondering whether I really
know you as well as I thought I did.
Am I mistaken in supposing you are
not an ambitious man V
"My only ambition iy to lead a
worthy Jife, and to be usef^J to my fellow-creatures
as I can. Does, that satisfy
you ?"
P.omayne hesitated.
"It seems strange?" hobegaD,
" What seems strange ?"_.
" I don't say it seems strange that
yon shonld be a priest," Komayne explained.
"I am only surprised that a
man of your simple way of thinking
should have attached himself to the
Order of the Jesuits." '
y
" I can auite understand that." said
Penrose. "But you shouiff^frnember
that circumstances often influence a
man in his choice of avocation. It has
been so with me. I am a member of a
lege was near our place of abode, and a
near relative of mine - since dead?was
one of the resident priests." He paused,
and acid'id, in a lower tone:* "When I
was little more than a lad I suffered a
disappointment which altered my character
for life. I took refuge in tha college,
and I have found patience and
pcace of mind since that time. Oh,
my friend, you idiglit have been a more
contented man?" He stopped again.
His interest in the husband had all but
deceived him into forgetting his promise
to the "wife.
Eomayne held out his hand.
"I hope I have not thoughtlessly
hurt you," he said.
Penrose took the offered hand, and
pressed it fervently. He tried to
speak, and suddenly shuddered, like a
man in pain.
"I am not very Tvell this morning,"
he stammered; "a turn in the garden
?Ml .1 _*1 ft
will ao me guuu. *
Romayne's doubts were-confirmed by
the manner in whicli Penrose left him.
Something had unquestionably happened,
which his friend shrank from
communicating to hi r. He sat down
again to his desk and tried to read.
Tho time passed, and he was still left
alone. When the door at last opened,
it was only Stella who entered the
room.
"Have you seen Penrose?" he asked.
The estrangement between them had
been steadily widening of late. Romavne
had expressed his resentment at
his wife's interference between Penrose
and nimseit, oy tnat air or comempi;uons
endurance which is the hardest
penalty that a man can inflict on the
woman -who loves him. Stella Lad submitted
with a proud and silent resignation?the
most unfortunate form of protest
that she could have adopted toward
a man of Bomayne's temper. When she
now appeared, however, in her husband's
study, there was a change in her
expression which he instantly noticed.
She looked at him with eyes softened by
sorrow. Before she could answer his
first question he hurriedly added another.
"Is Penrose really ill?"
"No, Lewis. Ho is distressed."
" About what V
" About you and about himself.
" Is he going to leave us ?*
" Yes." . ~
" But be will come back again ?'
Stella took a cbair by ber husband's
side. "I am truly sorry for you,
Lewis," she said. "It is even a sad
parting for me, If yon will let me say
it, I havo a sincere legard for dear Mr. I
Penrose."
Under other circumstances this confession
oi" feeling for a man who bad
sacrificed his dearest aspiration to the
one consideration of ber happiness
might have provoked a sharp reply.
But by this time Romayne had really
become alarmed. "You speak as if
Arthur was going to leave England," he
said.
" He leaves England this afternoon,"
she answered, " for Rom?."
"Why doe3 he tell this to you and
not to me ?" Romayne asked.
" He cannot trust himself to speak of
it to yon. He begged me to prepare
you?"
Her courage failed her. She paused.
Romayne beat his hand impatiently on
the desk before him. "Speak out!" ha
cried. "If Rome is not the end of his
journey, what is?"
Stella hesitated no longer.
"He ?roe3 to Rome," she said, "tc
receive Ms instructions, and to become
personally acquainted with the missionaries
whe are associated with him.
They will leave Leghorn in the next
vassel which sets sail for a port in Central
America. And the dangerous dutj
intrusted to them is to re-establish one
of the Jesuit missions destroyed by the
savages years since. They will find
their church a ruin and not a vestige
left of the house once inhabited by the j
mnrdered priests. It is not concealed
from them that thov may be martyred
too. They are soldiers of the cross; and
they go?willingly go?to save the
souls of the Indians at the peril of
their lives."
Romayne rose and advanced to the
door. There he turned and spoke tn
Stella.
" Where is Arthur?" he said.
Stella gently detained him.
" There was one word more he entreated
mo to say?pray wait and hear
it," she pleaded. " His one grief is at
leaving yon. Apart from that he devotts
himself gladly to the dreadful
service -which claims him. He has long
looked lor.>ard to it, and has long prepared
himself for it. Those, Lewis, are
his own words."
There was a knock at the doer. The
servant appeared to announce that the
carriage was waiting.
Penrose entered the room as tfce man
left it.
"Hav.-? you spoken for me?" he said
to Stella.
She could only answer him by a gesture.
He turned to Homayne with a
smile.
" The saddest of all words must be
spoken," ho said. " Farewell."
Pale and trembling, Eomayne took his
band.
" Is this Father Ben well's doing ?" he
asked.
"NoI" Penrose answered, firmly
I
" In Father Benwell's position it might
have been his doing, but for hi* goodness
to me. For the first time r,ince I
have known him, he ha-! shrunk from a
responsibility. For my sake he has leZt
it to Pome. And Home has spoken.
" Oh, my more than friend, my brother
in love?!"
His voice failed him. With a resolution
that was nothing less than heroic
in fi mart of liis rLftv.rtf.inri.af a rint.nrA lip
recovered his composure.
"Let us make it as little miserable as
it can be," lie said. "At every opportunity
we will write to eacli other. And,
who knows'? ?I may yet come back to
yon. God has preserved his servants in
dangers as great as any that I shall encounter.
May that merciful God bless
and protect you. Oh, liomayne, what
happy days we have had together!"
TTic Idcf nniuarc nf vacieftvera wavti
out. Tears of noble sorrow dimmed
the friendly eyes which had never looked
u-ikindly on the brother of his love.
He kissed Romayne. " Ilelp me out!"
ho said, turning bKndly toward the hall
in which the servant was waiting. That
last act of mercy was not left to a ser.
vant. With sisterly tenderness Stella
took his hand and ied him away. "I
shall remember you gratefully as long
as I live," she said to him when the
carriage door was closed. He waved
his hand at the window, and she saw
him no more.
SIia rpf.rirnp^ f.n t.Tip. stndv.
J
The relief of tears had come ^o Romayne.
He had dropped into a cbair
when Penrose left him. In stony
silence he sat there, bis head down, his
eyes dry and stariDg. The miserable
days of their estrangement were forgotten
by his wife in tbe moment when she
looked at him. She knelt by his side,
and lifted his head a little and laid it
on her bosom. Her heart was full?she
let the caress piead for her silently. He
felt it; his cold fingers pressed her hand
thankfully; but he said nothing. After
a long interval tne nrsc outward expression
of sorrow that fell from his
lips showed that lie was still thinking
of Penrose.
" Every blessing falls away from
me," he said. "I have lost my best
friend."
Years afterward Stella remembered
thoss words, and the tone in which he
had spoken them.
CHAPTER VTT.?THE IMPULSIVE SEX.
After a lapse of a few days Father
Bon well was again a visitor at Ten
Acres Lodge?by Piomayne's invitation.
The priest occupied the very chair by
the study fireside in which Penrose had
been accustomed to sit.
" It is really kind of you to come to
me," said Homayne, " so scon after receiving
my ackaoTledgment of your
letter. I can't tell you liow I was
touched by the manner in which you
wrote of Penrose. To my shame, I confess
it, I had no idea that you were sc
warmly attached to him."
"I scarcely knew it myself, T>Ir. Pcmayne,
until our dear Arthur was takon
away from us."
" If you used your influence, Father
Benwell, is their no hope that you
might yet persuade him
"To withdraw from the mission ? Oh,
Mr. Pioaiayne, don't you know Arthur's
, character better than that? Even his
I gentle temper has its resolute side.
| The zeal of the first martyrs to Christianity
is the z?al that burns in that
noble nature. The mission has been the
dream of his life; it is endeared to him
, by the very dangers which we dread.
| Persuade Arthur to desert the dear and
devoted colleagues who have opened
| their arms to him ? I might as soon
i persuade that statue in the garden to
desert its pedestal and join us in this
room. Shall we change the sad subject:
Have you received the book which I
t sent you with my letter ?"
Bomayne took up the book from his
desk. Before he could speak of it
some one called out briskly, on the
other side of the door: " May I come
in ?" and came in without waiting :o be
asked. Mrs. Eyrecourt, painted and
robed for the morning, wafting perfumes
as she moved, appeared in the study,
i She looked at the priest, and lifted her
many-ringed hands with a gesture of
coquettish terror.
"Oh, dear me? I had no idea you
were here, Father Benwell. I ask tea
thousand pardons. Dear and admirable
Romayne, you don't look as if you were
pleased to see me. Good gracious I I
am not interrupting a confession,
am I ?"
Father Benwell (with his paternal
cnile in perfect order) resigned his
chair to Mrs. Eyrecourt. Tho traces of
her illness still showed themselves in an
I i ?tafm i fc tramlil tn rr rtf lifvr TtA.l/1 fllin
v o -* ? ?C
her hands. She had entered the room,
strongly suspecting that the process of
conversion might he proceeding in the
absence of Penrose, and determined to
interrupt it. (iuuled by his subtle intelligence,
Father Benwell penetrated
her motive as soon as she opened the
door. Mrs. Eyrecourt bowed graciously
and took the offered chair. Father
Benwell sweetened his paternal smile,
and offered to get a footstool.
" How glad I am," he said, " to see
you in your customary good spirits!
But wasn't it just a little malicious to
talk of interrupting a confession ? As
if Mr. Iiomayne was one of us! Queen
Elizabeth herself could scarcely have
- i - ~i
SU.1U ii suai'jjei tiling iw tv ^uui vatuunu
priest!"
"You clever creature!" said Mrs.
Eyrecourt. " How easily you see
through, a simple woman like me!
There?I give you my hand to kiss; we
will make it up as the children.say. Do
you know, Father Benwell, a most extraordinary
wish has suddeuiy come to
me. Please don't be offended. I wish
~ >>
JUll VtCi'tt u ucw.
"May I ask why?" Father Ben well
inquired.
Mrs. Eyrecourt explained herself with
i the modest self-distrust of a maiden oi
fifteen. "I am really so ignorant I
scarcely know liow to put it. But
learned persons have told me that it is
the peculiarity of the Jews?may I say
the amiable peculiarity ??never to
! ikoI.-o ^.invnrfq Tt would be so nice if
you would take a leaf out of their book
when we have the happiness of receiving
you here. My lively imagination picture?
you in ? double character.
| Father Ben well everywhere else, an I?
j say, the patriarch Abraham at Ten Acres
Lodge."
Father Benwell lifed his persuasive
hands in courteous protest. "My dear
lady! pray make yonr mind easy. Not
j one' word on the sub jeer of religion has
passed between Tlr. Eomayne and myself-"
"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Eyrecourl
j interrupted; "I am afraid I fail to foli
low yon. My silent son-in-law looks as
j if lie longed to smother ine, and my at
tention is naturally distracted. You
I were about to say?"
" I was about to say, dear Mrs. Eyreconrthat
von are alarming yourself
without any reason. Not one word
o.i :my controversial subject has
passed?'"
Mrs. Eyrecourt cocked her head with
the artless vivacity of a bird. "Ah,
but it might, though I" sho suggested,
slyly.
Father Benwell once more remonstrated
in dumb show, andEomayne lost
Lis temper. . -
"Mrs. Eyrecourt!" he cried, sternly.
Mrs. Eyrecourt screamed and lifted
her hands to her ears.
"I am not deaf, dear Komayne?and
I aai not to be put down by any illtmpfi
pYhihitinn of what I mav call do
mestic ferocity. Father Benwell sets
you an example of Christian moderation.
Do, please, follow it."
Bomayne refused to follow it. _
" Talk on any other topic that you
like, Mrs. Eyrecourt. I request you?
don't oblige me to nse a harder word?I
request you to spare Father Ben well and
| myself any further expression of your
i A?ininr? An AAr?fi?A*rarciol "
A son-in-law may mate a request, and
j n mother-in-law may decline to comply,
j lurs. Eyrecourt declined to comply.
"No, Eomayne, it won't do. I may
lament your unhappy temper, for my
daughter's sake?but I know what I am
about, and you can't provoke me. Our
reverend friend and I understand each
other. He will make allowances for a
sensitive woman, who has had sad experience
of conversions in her own
household. My eldest daughter, Fath< 7
Ben well?a poor, fooli>h creature?was
converted into a nunnery. The last
time 1 saw her (she used to be sweetly
rretty; my dear husband quite adored
?thft last timfi T s:i\v her
I she had a red nose, and, what
j is even more revolting at her age, a
I double chin. She received me with her
lip.s pursed, up, and her eyes on the
ground, and she was insolent enough to
say that she would pray 'or me. I am
not a furious old man with a long white
j beard, and I don't curse my daughter
and rush out into a thunder-storm afterward,
but I know what King Lear felt,
and I have straggled with hysterics
just as he did. With your wonderful
insight into human nature, I am sure
you will sympathize and forgive me.
| Mr. Penrose, as my daughter tells me,
| behaved in the most gentlemanlike
; manner. I make the same appeal to
' your kind forbearance. The bare prosj
pect of our dear friend here becoming
! a Catholic?"
I Remaync's tempsr gave way once
: more.
I " If anything can make me a Catlij
olic," lie said, " yonr interference will
| do it."
i " Out of sliecr perversity, dear Ro~
| mayne?"
I "Not at all, Mrs. Eyrecourt. If I
I became a Catholic, I might escape from
I the society of ladies in the refuge cf a
j monastery."
I Mrs. Eyrecourt hit him back again,
j with the readiest dexterity,
i "Remain a Protestant, my dear, and
! tro to vonr club. There is a refuge for
I you from the ladies?a monastery, with
j nice little dinners and all tlie newspa|
pers and periodicals." Having launched
j this shaft, she got up, and recovered her
; easy courtesy of look and manner. "I
J am so much obliged to you, Father Ben!
well. I have not offended you, I hope
j and trust ?'
" You have done me a service, dear
j Mrs. Eyrecourt. Bnt for your salutary
i caution, I might have drifted into coni
, troversial subjects. I shall be on my
j guard now."
j
" How very good of you! We shall
! meet again, I hope, under more agreej
able circumstances. After that polite
i fr\ n tv>AnocfT t? n r?n,'1
j tbllLtOlVSLA W c? aju vuugtvij) a
i that my visit to my son-in-law may as
well come to an end. Please don't for|
get 5 o'clock tea at my house."
j As she approached the door it was
i opened from the outer side. Her
daughter met her half-way.
" Why are you here, mamina ?" Stella
asked.
" Why, indeed, my love! You had
j better leave the room with me. Our
I amiable Eomayne's present idea is to
; relieve himself of our society by retiring
i to a monastery. Don't you see Father
| Benwcli?"
! Stella coldly returned the priest's bow
| and looked at Eomayne. She felt a
j vague forewarning of what bad hap:
pened. Mrs. Eyrecourt proceeded to
1 enlighten her as an appropriate expr.'s|
sion of gratitude. " We are indeed in1
debted to Father Benwell, my dear.
He lias been most considerate and
kind?"
Eomayne interrupted her without;
j ceremony. "Favor me," lie said, addressing
his wife, " by inducing Mrs.
Eyrecourt to continue her narrative in
another room."
Stella was scarcely conscious of what
her mother or her husband had said.
| S'je felt that the priest's eyes were on
i her. Under The spell of those watchful
eyes she trembled inwardly; her cus;
tomary tact deserted her; she made an
j indirect apology to the man whom she
! t? x ^ J i
liUCUU. uuu xvuicu.
" Whatever my mother may have said
I to you, Father Benwell, has been with!
out my knowledge."
j Bomajne attempted to speak, but
! Father Benwell was too quick for him.
"Dear Mrs. Bomayne, nothing hae
I Deen said which needs any disclaime?
| on your part."
i " I should Ihii.k not!" Mrs. Eyre!
"Reallv. Stella. I don't
j understand you. Why may I not say
| 10Father Benwell what yon said to Mr.
j Penrose? You trusted Mr. Penrose as
j your friend. I can tell yon this?I am
I quite sure you may trust Father Benwell."
! fWA more "Romavne attempted tc
i speak. And ouce more Father Ben;
well was beforehand with him.
. ' r?:. ? _
"May I hope," said the priest, with
a finely ironical smile, " that Mrs.
Eomayne agrees with her excellent
mother?"
With all her fear of him, the exasperating
influence of his tone and his
look was more than Stella could endure.
Before she could restrain them,
the rish words flew out of her lips.
"I am not sufficiently well acquainted
with you, Father Benwell, to
express an opinion."
With that answer she took he:
mother's arm and left the room.
The moment they were alone, Bo
mayne turned to tlie priest, trembling
with anger. Father Eenwell, smiling
indulgently at the lady's little outbreak
took him by the hand, with
peace-making intentions. "Now don't
?pray don't excite yourself!"
Eomajne was not to be pacified in
Ahat way. His anger was tr?bly intensified
by the long continued strain on
his nerves of the effort to control himself.
"I must and will speak oni at last!'
lie said, "f ather JtJenweli, L Hope you
understand that nothing conld have
kept me silent so long bnt the duty of
conrtesy toward women, on winch the
ladies of my household have so inexcusably
presumed. No words can say
how much ashamed I am of what has
happened. I can only appeal to yonr
admirable moderation and patience to
accept my apologies, and the most sincere
expression of my regret."
"No more, Mr. Romajne! As a
favor to me, I beg and entreat you will
say no more. Sit down and compose
yourself."
But Romayne was impenetrable to
the influence of friendly and forgiving
demonstrations.
" I can never expect yon to enter mv
house again!" lie exclaimed.
"My dear sir, I will "come and see yon
again with, the greatest of pleasnre on
any day that- you may appoint?the
earlier day tli3 better. Come, come!
let us laugh. I don't say it disrespectfully,
but poor dear Mrs. Eyitecourt haf
Deen more amusing man ever, l ex-,
pect to see our excellent archbishop tomorrow,
and I must really tell him how
tbe good lady felt insulted when her
riiitlmlift Jan filter offered to t)rav for
her. There is scarcely anything more
hu morons; even in Moliere. And the
donble chin and the red nose?all the
fault of those dreadful Papists. Oh,
dear me, you still take it seriously.
How I wish you had my sense of humori
When shall I come again and tell you
. how the archbishop likes the story of
the nun's mother ?
He held ont his hand with irresistible
cordiality. Eomayne took it gratefully,
still bent, however, on making
atonement.
"Let me first do myself the honor of
calling oil you," he said. " I am in no
state to open ray mind, as I might have
wished to open it to you, after what
has happened. In a day or two more?"
Say the day after to morrow,"
Father Benwell hospitably suggested.
"Do me a great favor. Come and eat
your bit of mutton and some remarkably
good claret, a present from one of
the faithful. You will ? That's hearty i
And do promise mo to think no more of
our little domestic comedy. Believe
your mind. Look at ' "Wiseman's Recollections
of the Popes.' Good-bje?God
bless you!"
The servant who opened the housedoor
for Father Benwell was agreeably
surprised by the priest's cheerfulness.
| " He isn't half a bad fellow," the man
| announced among his colle&guues.
j " Gave me half a crown, and went out
j humming a tune."
CHAPTER vm.?FATHER BENWEIJ/S CORRESPONDENCE.
To the Secretary, S. J., Rome.
I.
" I beg to acknowledge the receipt o*
| your letter, mentioning that our reverend
fathers are discouraged tvt not haviug
heard from me for more than six
weeks.
" I am sorry for this?and I am more
than sorry to hear that my venerated
brethren regret having sanctioned the
i iVIon nf obtaining the restoration of the
Vange property to the church. Let
me humbly submit that the circumstances
justified the idea. An unentailed
property in the possession of a
of imaginative temperament, vithont
any near relations to control him,
id surely a property which might change
hands, under the favoring circumstances
of that man's conversior to the
Catholic faith? It may be objected
that the man is not yet converted.
Also, tl^at he is now married, and maj
have an heir to his estate. Grant me
a delay of another week?and I will tin
dertake to meet the first of these objections.
In the meantime, I bow to
superior wisdom; and I do not venture
to acid another word in my own
defense.
IL
"The week's grace granted to me
has elapsed. I write with humility. At
the same time, I have something to sav
for myself.
" Yesterday, IMr. Lewis Fomayne, of
Vauge Abbey, was received into the community
of the HjIv Catholic Church.
I inciose an accurate newspaper report
of che ceremonies which attended the
conversion.
" 13e pleased to iDform in-1 by telegraph,
whether our reverend Fathers
vribh me to go or not.
1FE xTND OF THE FOURTH EOOS.
.
Fogg put his foot into it bodily when
he was introduced to 3rtrs. Smith and
her daughter. He wished to say some
thing neat and gallan t. Addressing the
daughter, ?aid he : "Really, madam, I
never should have suspected that that
lady was your daughter. I supposed,
of course, that ron were sisters; I did,
I assure you." "Thankyou, Mr. Fogg,"
replied Miss Smith. "Yoa were perfectly
right in thinking that lady could
not be my daughter. She is my mother,
sir." Fosrg went off in a hurry, calling
somebody or other a confounded fool,
while Miss Smith was heard to remark
indignantly, "Sisteis, indeed 1"
!
The word thimble is derived from
"Thumb-bell," being at fist thumble
and afterward thimble. Tho little instrument
itself is a Dutch invention,
and was first introduced in England
about the year 1605 by John Lofting.
. -
Oriental Contrasts.
Identity of terms applied to the
necessaries of life, and similarity of the
rude implements by which the simple
operations of industry aie performed,
show that the art of craftsmen had
voodSc 1 o / orfoin <rel 1 Anfja Vw?fnrA thA
European parted company with the
natives of India. Bat by neither of these
clews can any connection be traced
between China" an-i other lands. The
language, even in its simplest roots, has
no analogy; and the implements of
industry have characteristic forms which
show that in the earliest period of her
existence China drew nothing from
other peoples. What siie required, she
originated; she imitated nothing, as
tne IOiiowing IICIS most cieariy uiu?cate:
The anvil of the Chinese smith is not
flat, like the anvil of other countries,
bat convex on its npper or working
surface ; and the bellows of a Chinese
forge, instead of working vertically, has _?
a horizontal stroke. The paper of the _
Chinese is th>n and weak ; it ia printed "
on one side only, but doubled to present
a'folded-edge at the rim of the leaf, and a ,
printed surface on eitner side. The
cbaia pump of China has a square
barrel ;-;.bttt that of o^er,.countries is
-cylindrical. Brass is made elsewhere
b.T melting together copper'Smd zinc in a
crucible; in China, by suspending
thin sheets of copper, heated almost to
melting, in the vapor of molten zinc.
The German silver of Europe is made'
by combining the*materials in their
metallic condition; the Chinese equivalent
-i>y mangling the ores of the.
metals, and reducing them to produce
the alloy. Spangles are made not by
cutting or stamping from steel metal,
but by flattening wire first bent into
annular form. Pewter vessels are not
cast, but are shaped by hammering upon
a block. The primitive mill in
many countries for crushing apples for
cider, for pulverizing ores, and composed
of p wheel traveling in a groove
or channel has, among the western
nations, its wheel running continuously
in a certain track around a vertical axle;
in China its wheel runs to and fro in a
horizontal movement. Chinese lanterns
are not made of horn like those of the
Romans, nor of perforated metal as looj
since in Europe, nor of glass as is now
universal, but of a varnished papsr
stretched on bamboo frames, sometimes
of little cost for the multitude, sometimes
of great intrinsic worth and
blazoned with titles for the mandarins.
mu~ J hoc
1ULC UUUICOtil^ JLUUUCUIJ VI WUW& M?U\* * ?**- /
obtained the healthful tcid of vinegar
from, the acetic f-roaentation of the
sweet juice of fru ts; the Chinese by
placing in water the sea polyp s found
along the coasts. The fish cultnre, so . - recently
attracting the attention of the
United States aud o tier countries is
old in China ; but Chinese tish culturists - '
pat the spawn in an eg* shell and place
it under a batching fowl, and, after due
delay, break the shell in water warmed
by the sun.
" ..'-yixM
POPULAR SCIENCE.
As we ascend from the earth the air
grows thinner and thinner. From this
fact astronomers believe that the limit
of the atmosphere is 200 miles from the
In Alpine regthere are more narrow,
partly-closed flowers than elsewhere,"
and a greater proportion cf longtongne
insects, the flora seeminj? to be
exactly adapted to the insects feeding
on its honey. ...
Professor Osborne Keynolds has been
trying to discover why, nnder certain \
circumstances, drops of water may be 't
seen floating for some time on the snrface
of pools during a shower before
they disappear. He believes that his
experiments proved that the suspension
depends only on the purity of the surface
of the water, and not at all on the
temperature ?r condition of the air.
The results of the experiments of Dr.
Lacerdo Filho on the poison of the rattlesnake
are : 1. The poisoa acts upon
the blood by destroying the red corpuscles,
and by changing the physical and
/>Viorr?i/?o1 ornolifxr nf +V10 rVtasma 2 Thfl
poison contains seme mobile bodies,
similar to the microceccus of putrefaction.
3. The blood of an animal killed
by a snake's bite, when inoculated to
another animal of the same size and
species, causes the death of the latter
within a few hours, under the same
symptoms and the same changes oi the
blood. 4. The poison can be dried and
preserved for a long time without losing
its specific qnality. 5. Alcohol is the
best antidote for the poison yet known.
Frozen salmon have been imported in
excellent condition in London from the
Hudson Bay settlements The vessel
was fitted with one of the patent dryair
refrigerators, invented by Mr. S. I. ^
Coleman, and manufactured by some
Glasgow company. The hold was made
air-tight and "lined with a non-conducting
substance. As soon as the lisli
wera caught, they were deposited in the
Vinl/3 cf fna rofro nf ?Virvnt. t.hrAA tons a
day, -until the compartment, holding
thirty-five tons, "was filled. The temperature
at which the fish was kept
daring the voyage was between 20
degrees and 22 degrees Fahrenheit. This
successful experiment is an important
one for the fish industry in the United
States. . ~T||
_
-The
Carnage at Fredericksburg.
"I was sergeant of a gun which was
stationed just there," ?aid an ei Confederate
to me as we faced the height.
" We did not believe the Federals
would charge the hill, and when they came
the second time we cheered them.
Such bravery I never saw on a battlefield.
Some of tbe men who were hit
- - -
way down the street hobbled ana nmpea
forward, ana were struck down witnin
one hundred feet of tbe wall. This
road was the worst spectacle of the * '?
whole war. Our artillery created horrible
slaughter on the heavy lines of
men at such close range. That tree
down there at the corner of the garden
stood in an open field then, and just
beyond it was a slight swell. As Sumner's
troops came over that swell in
their second charge, I fired iuro the
lines just to the right of the tree, and
the shell killed or wounded m arly every
man in one company. I saw grape and
canister open lanes through the ranks,
+ V> a Wrro linos TIT) atTJltll
auu jc? vi?v ? c
and dashed at the base of the bill. We
thcuaht thej were madmen.
"Djwn where the old shed stands I
saw a curious thing tbat day. When
Sumner was driven ba--k the second
time a single Federal Folder was left .
on his feet among the df^nd thfre. In-tead
of falling back with tbe rest he
stood there and loadjd a**d fired as
coolly as if at target practice. He
wounded one man in my company, -- T
killed a corporal farther up the hill,
ana shot a lieutenant there where the
ha -a ! oa monv oc kit
*tiu tlil ? CO. l IT/ uo 1. >. ^ L. , w.,
shots, being fired at in return by a thousand
men; but, as he turned and walked
away, our men ceased liriner and gave
him cheer after cheer.?M. Quad.
_ J
The Chico (Cal.) Record tells this
storv: A couple of Chinamen, while w d
fishing in the S.icrimonto river near >jj
Chioo landing, were attacked by a l&iga
snake, which coiled abou' oae of them.
The other Chinaman seized a harchet
and cut the monster to pieces. ^ They
11 j._ if onrl r.T.?f?inf? '* , T'zs*!,
proceeaea to iiiBJtsuio ^ n
together the parts severed, it measured ^
forty-three feel saa seven irclies, 2nd
was as large a>o::n<5 as a ma's tag.